


Cicatrices (Primroses Mean I Can’t Live Without You)

by satoda



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: ??? idk man, Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satoda/pseuds/satoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it's hard to move on. Takao needed to do so, and he did. One memory at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cicatrices (Primroses Mean I Can’t Live Without You)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cicatrix Spectrum Anthology – 13 Centimeters & Kizuato Spectrum](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/54437) by Sashikizu/Gusari. 



> Heavily based off of the MidoTaka doujin "13cm". It's a pretty good idea to read that for more context of what's going on.

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

I wake up to a copy of my dreams. Quietly, softly, it begins.

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


60 Square Meters (Scarlet Pimpernels Mean Change)

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey, where are you? Seriously, this is way too much stuff for one person to have.” Takao looked around the brand new apartment. The light streaming in lit up the quiet corners of cobwebs and dust, and speckles of white blinded him for a second. Whoa. The brunet blinked them out of his eyes, once, twice, before his fingers continued to run over the stack of boxes before him. “If you don’t count my clothes, I only had two boxes… You’re crazy, Shin— Shin-chan? Where are you anyway?” 

A grunt resounded from another room, along with the soft murmurs between his housemate and the movers. Curious. Takao rounded the corner, not quite fully past the doorway, but just enough that the pair of silver blue optics could peer into the room.

Blink blink.

The long back frustratingly was longer than his, and the starchy white of his friend’s polo did little to hide lithe muscles that stretched as the other got up from peering closely at boxes. He turned and pushed glasses up on the straight bridge of his nose, and Takao couldn't remember how to breathe.

“Why do you insist on calling me so familiarly? ...Forget it, Takao.” Once again, Midorima used his last name. Why was that? They were living together, housemates, classmates, friends, or at least he hoped they were. How strange, this bespectacled man was. Never honest with the world around him, but so clearly so.

An hour passed, then two, then three.

Takao was sprawled against the floor now, exhaustion running chalk into his veins. Moving sure took a lot of energy out of him, but at least it was out of the way for him now. And now he could enjoy the new, fancy apartment.

“Takao.” The voice, a call and a command, beckoned him to leave his thoughts and join his housemate on the balcony.

He answered.

Why wouldn't he? The chalk would have to wait to harden. Slowly, limbs creaked to motion, and Takao made his way over. Nothing was noticed until he had arms hanging limply over the balcony railing. And then his sight showed something that made him pause.

The sun was setting, and the jagged skyline in front of him, made of skyscrapers reaching too high and convenience stores reaching too low and little houses that just were, scattered the light and broke into the sky, and the streaks of white were interspersed with pinks and yellows and blues.

Oh.

It was these little things, the small thought that Midorima seemed to consider these small joys in life to be important enough to share with him, that reminded Takao that they were indeed close.

He smiled, soft and sad, and turned around so that his back was to the sunset, too bright to face directly, and he was instead facing the reflection in his friend’s eyes. Soft lower lashes, too long for a man, swept around the dark emerald globes that seemed to orbit through his thoughts and back, and not even the half frames of stern glasses took away any beauty from this man. They were so close right then, and he wouldn't have to reach too far to take those glasses away.

“Let’s go back inside. It’s a bit chilly, don’t you think? Well, you could always see the sunset another day anyway?” He dodged to the left, all smiles and crinkled eyes, and made his way back to his room. Too close for comfort, and he wasn't ready for it now. Maybe, in a bit, a little more. One month, or two, a little more.

Takao never looked back.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


15,000 Light Years (Asters Mean Nostalgia)

 

 

 

 

 

A flash, and he was awake again. Oh, reality, yeah. It was always so strange to return to the current time after diving into his dreams. They were always so vivid and real, the taste of past memories so strong on his palette. But once again, it ended, and Takao was back where he belonged.

The dream monitor beeped at his side, and Takao knew that the dream was over. A crack, and two, and he was rolling his shoulders while sitting up. The brunet remembered when he had first moved into the apartment, almost as well as the dream monitor did it for him. But there was always something missing in those dreams.

The sense of touch.

Little touches between them that happened in the days that came. Fingers brushing against each other while dishes passed back and forth, nudging shoulders together when crowding around the kitchen sink, or the firm feeling of Shin-chan’s back as he gave the taller man a push to leave the drying to him.

The touch of warm blankets draped over his legs, and Takao was living in his thoughts again. Soft speckled lights that bounced and made homes on the dark walls of the room.

How fast could light travel, and how far?

The planetarium felt warm under his touch, the light bulb contained beneath clear glass and punctured black to form the Leo Minor and Milky Way against the backdrop of painted walls and glossy posters. It was kind of funny, seeing his favorite lead singer with Pegasus sitting on his stomach.

“Shin-chan, hey, you still awake?” He gently nudged at the man, too tall, too heavy, slumped on top of him. Then Takao decided to move on and lift up a lazy arm, the fingers sliding up to point at the markings of three bright dots lined up on the center of the ceiling.

“These stars, they’re Orion right? It’s pretty nice, always having your buddies nearby.” Takao murmured the words with the quirk of his lips, the hand dropping back down so his index finger could cover over the line of stars. Off, then on, again and again, then on as the finger moved away to trace along the pentagonal sides of the planetarium projector.

“That isn't exactly right. Even if they look close to each other, the middle star is actually the farthest from Earth.”

A stir, and then he was meeting those eyes framed by long lashes again.

“Even though they’re right by each other?” Takao’s wide eyes stared at the ceiling a second longer.

“That’s the reality of space. Things that look close to each other are actually much farther away.”

His wide eyes turned slowly with his head to look at the other. “...Is space really such a lonely place?” Scorpius danced against the side of Midorima's cheek, and the Butterfly Cluster slid down his chin. How sly of you, Shin-chan, was what he thought as he looked up at the man that was propping himself up on his hands, now looking down at him instead of up. For once the glasses did not block open dark spring eyes, and Takao’s breath went shallow as he waited for the other to speak.

“In comparison, Earth is a relatively small place.” His eyes belied that distance, and little sparks of stars reflected the depths within them. Midorima was so close, and he was looking so carefully. Any more, and Takao felt like he would fall into the distance that would take light years to travel. So close, he couldn't look away, and the brunet felt like he was falling upwards into the other’s earthy optics. He was already falling, and nothing could pull him out.

“...I see.”

Nothing but reality, and he was once again in the cold space of his brightly lit room.

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


0 Centimeters (Ash-leaved Trumpets Mean Separation)

 

 

 

 

 

He woke up to the smell of rice and fish, and knew that it was time to get up. The quiet morning only let the sounds of bird chirps and distant cars through the open balcony, and Takao trudged his way to the living room.

Midorima was sitting there, the proper polo buttoned up to the top like a stiff worker would, and the table was already laid out with the dishware.

How proper, as always.

He took a seat 2 meters across his housemate and with a small murmur of morning greeting, took a bite of the fish he knew would be too salty, and a larger bite of the rice he knew would be perfectly cooked. Takao had learned to eat in a two-thirds ratio of fish to rice, and no matter how many times he would comment on it, Midorima’s cooking never changed.

The chopsticks clanked against the porcelain bowls.

Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty, and the bird changed tunes to call for another of its kind.

The chopsticks clanked against the kitchen sink.

A silent morning.

“Mm, did you make lunch too? I can whip something up real fast if you want.” Takao looked up as the other prepared for the day. He was closer now, 1 meter instead.

“No, it’s fine.” Midorima leaned in, curiously, the hint of something in his eyes.

50 centimeters.

He continued, soft and slow. “...I’ll get something when I get there.”

30 centimeters.

Hesitance, and then he was turning around. Takao could only follow, silently stepping forward, silently reaching out.

20 centimeters.

He could touch it, if he wanted to. Midorima’s hand was not far away at all.

10 centimeters.

There would be no difficulty in hooking his pinky in Midorima’s.

3 centimeters.

But he was a coward, and Midorima was holding onto something anyway.

5 centimeters.

The lull of wheels filled the doorway as the taller man opened the door, and the quiet forest green of his suitcase followed him.

20 centimeters.

Too soon, it was happening, and Takao could not feel the strength to move forward.

50 centimeters.

1 meter.

Not now, too soon, the door was closing.

2 meters.

Click. He sank to his knees. The distance to Midorima… To where Shin-chan was, was too far to overcome with the touch of a hand. He could only crouch at the doorway as hidden tears fell into the dark, and the only sounds left were the splatters against the wooden floor and his quiet sobs, and the bird outside calling for a new beginning.

Just as he had promised, Midorima left as spring began.

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


6000 Miles (Pink Camelias Mean Heartfelt Longing)

 

 

 

 

 

Takao woke up in a daze, the quiet whirring of the machine at his bedside the only thing in the room. If he closed his eyes again, he could see the stars of Orion decorate the ceiling again.

This time, though, his hands were weaving together something new.

The quiet clicks of keyboard keys created something new. Memories, his own, dream segments that were spliced and set together to create one long sequence of dreams. His dreams. And maybe, hopefully, in some distant place in the world, their dreams. Surely he was not the only one who loved every waking moment in dreams of the past, but to wholeheartedly put his trust in a fanciful thought like that wasn't realistic.

He had to move on, one day, some day.

The dream monitor was still new in the market, but Takao had spent too many late afternoons still lost in the passage of time to care about something as little as money. He had to store these memories somewhere. He had to capture them somewhere. He had to put them away.

He had to move on.

And the saddest part was how bitterly he knew this, and how bitterly he did not want to know this. It was time to move on, whether he wanted to or not, but at least, this way, the brunet could remember whenever he wanted to. He could relive a second, a minute, an hour, of that time, with him, again.

The memory in its digital form only existed in one place. A chip. The memory card was small, and Takao could destroy it when the time came. But until then, he hid it inside a pocket globe.

The comfort was that the memories still existed, but the trouble of reliving them gave him a way to move on.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


13 Centimeters (Althaea Frutexes Mean Consumed by Love)

 

 

 

 

 

The final memory is of the globe itself.

The small sphere came as an eighteenth birthday present.

The gift emerged from his pocket like nothing of any monumental meaning.

The width was thirteen centimeters wide, a small scale of the entire planet.

The distance from one side of the world to the other is not that far at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I did this last night into the wee hours of the morning for a class assignment, and since I was short on time I decided to just rehash one of my favorite doujins. The prompt said to include a futuristic invention, so I used something called the dream monitor. It allows the user to record dreams and see them while awake, or if the user chooses, relive the dreams in sleep again. This is the longest thing I've ever written I think, and I might come back to rewrite this and include the whole doujin, but that depends on my levels of motivation. X-posted on my rp account because I can yessss


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